Baroness Warsi visited her ancestral village yesterday, the place that her father left 50 years ago in favour of England. She received a rock-star reception, with cheering, drumming and great cries of “zindabad”. But the best thing about it was the fistfuls of fragrant rose petals that showered her arrival. More great clouds of pink were thrown in the air as she took the podium to address the crowd. As the hot afternoon wore on, and more feet trampled the ground in front of the balcony where she stood, the crumpled petals sent up an intense scent lending proceedings a rather magical air.
Postcards from Hell is my ironically titled list of things that are cool about Pakistan, my new home, or which contradict the notion that the country is some sort of failed state